


Gentle Care

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Falling In Love, M/M, Princess Bride-ish, caretaker!John, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-02 20:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10226552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: In a time after the woman and  the hound,  Sherlock and John are struggling with the fact that they have silently agreed to spend the rest of their lives together.  When Sherlock catch the cold John's reaction to his misery is what brings them to the breaking point.  Sweet, gentle affection where is down the space between them.For Ginger8lee, who's birthday is this month. Hope you enjoy it!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Sherlock curled in on himself more tightly, worn body creaking. He'd always hoped he would die in his sleep, but sleep, it seemed, would continue to elude him. He groaned and rested his forehead against his arm, looking across the long expanse of the sitting room to the kitchen.

John.

John was there, standing at the sink. His hair shone silver and gold in the light of the setting sun, and while he didn't look young, he was the epitome of health. Regret bloomed fresh in Sherlock's stomach as he remembered what his imminent death would do to John. He'd only just got to see the edges of his affection.

John had given up dating after The Woman, and The Hound. They had been torn apart and then forced back together during those long days, and the fear Sherlock had felt when he realised sickness was setting in had emboldened him to show a bit of his intense love for the man. It was easier when John wasn't dating, made Sherlock the focus of John's attention.

"I want you to marry," he croaked, smiling softly, even through the ache of it, as John turned his head.

"What?" John asked.

And, oh, how a single word could remind Sherlock of what he would miss so much. The feeling swelled as John sighed and left the sink to take his seat across from Sherlock, hand towel carefully placed over one knee.

"I said," Sherlock murmured, not minding repeating himself, not this time, "that I want you to marry. After I die. You shouldn't be alone, you're not the type of man to take that well."

John's shoulders tightened and he threw his head back. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Sherlock! You've got a run of the mill cold! You're behaving like a child!"

Sherlock sniffled, for effect, and splayed himself out on the chair. "Marry someone kind, John. For my sake."

_____

Four days. Four bloody days of whining about the cold, and now it was all taking a strange turn. The whining John could handle, this new facsimile of sweetness, of care, hit a bit too close to home. Could Sherlock really not see how it stung when he said things like that?

Get married? Yes, because there was another Sherlock Holmes out there waiting for John for when this one died of a bad case of the dramatics.

John sighed and stood, walking to the coffee table and grabbing the tissues. "Blow your nose, Edger Allan."

"Ah," Sherlock breathed, taking the tissues in hand, "humor, even in the darkest of times. Even as I'm dying of boredom. Sweet John, sweet, sweet John."

"Stop-" and John didn't know how to finish that. He shook his head and turned.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, for all the world sounding truly worried.

"If you're going to act like a child," and that was where John couldn't stop himself, "I'm going to treat you like one."

"Are you leaving?" Sherlock gasped, jolting out of his seat and stalking behind John to the stairs.

"No, you great git, I'm getting a book," John explained. "A good book, and a few blankets, and I'll have Mrs H make you some more of that soup you like."

He didn't see the interest pass over Sherlock's face, as he was heading up the first steps towards his room, but it was there.


	2. Buttercup

What met John when he returned was obvious skepticism. Sherlock watched him carefully as he brought in two of the blankets from the large linen closet upstairs, barely breaking eye contact as John tucked them around him. It was a bit uncomfortable, Sherlock's eyes that close up.

"My uncle used to read this to me when I was sick as a child," John said, holding a battered copy of The Princess Bride aloft as he went to make some herbal tea for Sherlock's cough.

"Oh, joy of joys, a child's book," Sherlock huffed, his voice nasally and weak.

"This is real literature," John disagreed. "Adventure and ro-". He stopped himself short, knowing any mention of romance would bring on the mocking. "Rollicking good times. Princes and kings and giant rats."

"A fairytale, John? I'm not actually a child," Sherlock said, a harrumph rolling through him at the second implication of such a thing in one day.

"Well," John answered, knowing exactly what he needed to say to turn things around, "I suppose the story of Dread Pirate Roberts would be too boring for you, then. Guess I'll just read it myself."

There was a peculiar sound at John's back and he turned from the stove to find Sherlock standing up with a pained look on his face.

"Lay back down, you need to conserve your energy," John said softly, walking with the tray of tea and biscuits to the coffee table. "Can't have you falling asleep before you find out his secret identity."

Sherlock sat back down and pulled the blankets up around his neck.

_____

It was all Mycroft's doing. He was the only one who knew about Sherlock's childhood interest in pirates. Sherlock wanted to curse his brother, but at the same time, just as John was settling into the spare space at the end of the sofa, it felt like a sort of gift. If the knowledge was used against him, that would be one thing, but it seemed it would be in his favor to keep his mouth shut for once.

"Now," John said, clearing his throat and looking particularly warm and soft at that very moment, "if there are no more complaints, we'll start."

Sherlock bit his lip and covered his face with a tissue to hide the cruel look it had decided on, and tried not to seem overly eager.

"Our story begins with Buttercup. She lived in a small town with her parents, and enjoyed horseback riding and tormenting the farm boy, Wesley," John started. "She peppered him with demand upon demand, and his only response was the ever eager 'as you wish'. She was surprised that day to realise that when he said those words, what he meant was 'I love you'. She was even more surprised to realise how much she loved him back."

Sherlock pulled the tissue down and looked over the edge at John suspiciously. "I thought you said this was an action adventure book."

John had, at least, the peace of mind to look slightly guilty at that and Sherlock delighted in the discomfort for a moment before nudging him with his toe to continue. 

John started back up, voice softer than it had been. "Wesley didn't have the money needed for the marriage, so he had to go across the sea to seek his fortune in lands unknown."

When there was a long pause Sherlock looked up again. John was staring at him, uncertainty written on his features. It made something in Sherlock's chest squeeze tight.

"John...it's a good story. Go on," Sherlock murmured, worried he'd finally ruined things with his whining. 

"'How do you know we'll ever see each other again?' Buttercup asked." John paused again, this time sipping at his own tea to cover it. "'Because this is true love,' Wesley explained, 'which doesn't happen everyday'."

Sherlock felt his cheeks heating up. The way John spoke the words, they seemed fragile and real. It was stupid how they made him feel. He wanted them to be John's words.

"But Wesley never made it. His ship was stopped before it could land, and was taken over by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who never left captors alive. When Buttercup got news of Wesley's death she locked herself away in her room and promised to never love again."

Sherlock drank his tea and continued to listen to the story of Buttercup and her misfortune. He didn't complain when Buttercup was set to marry a prince she didn't love because he was trying to pretend he wasn't interested in that part of the story, but he did let out a small sad sound when Buttercup was kidnapped. John misunderstood.

"We're getting to the pirates soon," he promised.

Sherlock pulled the blankets tighter around himself and started to drift off to sleep.


End file.
